


Two Soldiers, Both Alike in Dignity

by TerraCottaNightmare



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: .Angst, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff, Bucky's POV, But not this story, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Cuddles are important, Disney Movies, Domestic Avengers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Give him love, He gets love, How Do I Tag, I REGRET NOTHING, I regret some things, M/M, Mind the Rating, Nebulously set in SPN Season 7, Potential trigger warning, Sam Winchester-centric, Sam expresses his feelings, Sam has friends, Sam needs friends, Sam's POV, Swearing, Timeline? What Timeline?, Uggghh, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Winchester Coping Mechanisms, mentions of drinking, more to come - Freeform, possible implied pairings?, potential for pre-slash?, sam has feelings, the Avengers understand mental health issues, these two, they watch lilo and stitch guys, this is probably trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-25 18:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12041697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerraCottaNightmare/pseuds/TerraCottaNightmare
Summary: Bucky and Sam keep bumping into each other, Sam is a mess, Bucky is a mess, the author is a mess. Other Avengers Mentioned but no one actually shows up in this one.





	1. A Meeting in the Snow

**Author's Note:**

> This is…. Something I’ve wanted to write for literally years. Sam hanging with the Avengers is my one true weakness and I wish there was more of it (that isn’t centered around Dean). This Sam is lifted from Season 7, while Dean is in Purgatory. The Avengers (and Bucky) are post-Winter Soldier and pre-Ultron (somewhere in that stretch).  
> (I know the chapter title is stupid but who needs good ideas haha dead)

Upstate New York in winter wasn’t conducive to being on the run. Having grown up in the vicinity, you’d think he’d have known that.  
He had, actually. Bucky swore quietly as another chunk of ice fell down his shirt godDAMMIT. Hundreds of memories of icy roads, thin blankets and a small blond boy with a smile like the sun had come rushing back at the first hint of cold. Along with others; memories of screams, terrified eyes and blood in the snow and in his hair.   
Collapsing in an alley, he hunkered down, swearing when the cold vibranium brushed the skin of his remaining arm.  
“...hey.”  
Bucky shot to his feet, one hand fumbling at the small of his back for a gun that wasn’t there. Not that he was defenseless; the metal monstrosity at his side was adept at taking people out, whether or not he wanted to.  
It sure as hell would’ve made him feel better to have even a knife, though. The guy who’d called out was a fucking tank, massive and muscular. What little skin Bucky could see was laced with scars of differing widths and ages. His mind picked out seven kinds of blade and what looked like gas burns on just his left wrist before he brought himself back.  
The man’s hands were up in surrender. “Sorry,” he stammered, “I-I was passing and I saw you huddled there and I just-- well…” His gloveless fingers combed through his hair before flying back into a ‘surrender’ pose.  
Bucky leaned back against the rough bricks of the wall. If the guy tried to jump him, he’d be ready, but it was light out and they were in a populous enough area that he doubted he’d try anything.  
Visibly relaxing, the man slowly lowered his hands. “I thought… There’s a shelter two blocks south. That’s where I’m headed. Figured you might need a place to rest… We’re s’posed to get another foot by midnight.”  
Bucky considered the man. He was in his late twenties, with the kind of grungy, scruffy look that most people got after a few months of living rough. The way he held himself said military. His hair, similar to Bucky’s own (and damn was it weird, having something to think of himself as, aside from “you” or “soldier” or “monster”), was long and limp with grease. Though his eyes had bags that seemed like they’d been there for ages, they were open and seemingly kind. Kicking off the wall, Bucky twisted his mouth into something that approximated a smile. “Thanks.”  
Brightening slightly, the guy held out his hand. “I’m Sam.”  
“...James.”  
Sam’s grin was small, and tired, but genuine. With that, they were off.


	2. Bucky Doesn't like Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam kicks some ass, Bucky learns about the supernatural, and the author has a problem with coming up with titles.

He had no idea what the fuck this thing was, but it was  _ really _ starting to piss him off. It looked human, but the thing had taken six rounds (to various vital organs/appendages) and a hunting knife to the knee in stride. Oh, and there was the whole  _ solid black eyes  _ thing.

It had jumped him in an abandoned gas station. Steve’s mission had brought him to the west coast with Howard Stark’s  _ son _ of all people, and he’d settled somewhere south of Sacramento-- close enough to keep an eye on him, but far enough away that the  _ fucking super assassins _ that Steve traveled with now wouldn’t notice him (and what kind of life did he live where that sentence made sense?).

Bucky had been following him for months now. He knew it was stupid; But all of his memories, all of his instincts, every little fragmented shard of himself that he’d fought so hard to reclaim  _ screamed _ that Steve, for whatever reason, was the only thing that really mattered.

So he followed the little punk ( _ where did that come from? _ ) across the goddamn country, ready to jump in if necessary despite all logic telling him that Steve, being a chemically enhanced super-soldier with a literal fuckton of backup, definitely didn’t need the help of an ex-assassin who forgot his own name on a  _ good  _ day.

He couldn’t stop following him, but he couldn’t force himself to approach, either. Steve was forgiving to a fault, but even he had his limits. Some things… Some of the things he’d done just weren’t forgivable.

His head snapped back against an old shelf as the WHATEVER got in a solid hit. Only years on training kept him from blacking out, and even then it was a near thing. His vision went gray and he slumped. Vaguely, he registered the sound of someone else closing fast; God help him if it was another one of those things. There was the whistle of a blade cutting through the air, a wet ‘thwack’ as it connected with flesh.

Large hands checked him over before easing him up into a sitting position, gripping his shoulders firmly but not ungently. A soft voice broke through the ringing in his ears.

“...ou okay?”

Bucky’s vision cleared sightly, his other senses coming back online far slower than he’d prefer. The voice was deep, presumably male, further confirmed by the sheer size of the blurry blob his mind insisted was a person. Something tickled at his memory. He swiftly dismissed it, not about to have a flashback whilst at the mercy of a stranger.

His left arm darted out to push the other man back. Apparently it had been supporting most of his weight-- he crashed back into the shelves with a curse.

“Take it easy, man. No one expects you to be up and running just yet.” A tanned hand approached cautiously, holding out a beat-up old flask. Bucky squinted up at the slightly less blurry blob, nonplussed.

“It’s just water.” Brown-haired guy pulled it back to take a swig before offering it up again. Warily, Bucky accepted.

“Good to see you again.” His head snapped up, immediately on alert. Most of the people who recognized him wanted him dead or reprogrammed.

“Careful! You might be concussed, I haven’t been able to test yet.”

The memory snapped into place as his vision began to clear. “...Sam, right?”

“Yeah,” the man flashed him a quick grin before bending over his bag. He pulled out a box of bandaids and a few alcohol wipes, passing them off to Bucky at his insistence. 

Sam sat back on his heels, studying him from the corner of his eye. “I have something for pain, too, but I don’t think you trust me enough to take it. Fair, obviously.”

Bucky grunted, slapping a bandage to a shallow cut on his leg. “You kill that thing?”

He watched the other man’s face. Shock was eclipsed by curiosity and caution. He nodded, pushing his hair back and studying him.

“So you know it wasn’t human… But you weren’t looking for it, and you weren’t equipped to deal with it.” Sam seemed to be mostly talking to himself, shifting back slightly and glancing at the fallen whatever. Apparently he decided something.

He watched as the other man fished a business card out of his bag, crossing something out and scribbling on the back. He accepted it warily, noting the name and looking up incredulously. “Bob Plant? Really?”

“My brother’s idea of a joke.” He drooped, face falling. Suddenly he looked as old as Bucky felt. He gathered himself quickly.

“If you run into anything like this again, call the number on the back. I’ll help you out, or send someone who can.” And with that, he packed his bag and wandered over. He pulled an ornate blade from the body, wiping it on the thing’s clothes and sheathing it before exiting through the hole where the door used to be.

Because that answered  _ so many questions. _


	3. Please Drink Responsibly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Sam have a "Who's life is weirder?" competition/I'll-advised drinking game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: people drinking alcohol and getting drunk. Please don't read if this is triggering for you in any way. Proceed to the next chapter for a brief synopsis if necessary.

"No way."  
"I can prove it."  
Bucky raises an eyebrow.  
"How exactly can you prove that you DIED?"  
Sam rolls his eyes and turns around, lifting his shirt to show the knotted scar at the base of his spine.  
An involuntary hiss escapes as he stares. No way could someone survive that in Sam's condition-- if they were extremely lucky they'd be paralyzed for life, if the assailant didn't knick the aorta or anything else vital.  
Sam drops his shirt, sliding back into his chair with an ease not many could manage after a night of drinking.  
"I thought you hunted supernatural creatures and shit."  
Sam smiles, sharp and bitter. "I do."  
"That's a knife wound."  
"It is."  
Bucky rollshis eyes. Leave it to Sam to get cryptic now.  
He'd ended up calling him almost two weeks after the demon attack (because apparently those were a thing now). Evidently, the stupid thing had had friends-- friends who'd tracked him for three states until he called the stupid number Sam'd given him, if only for some peace.  
Sam had taken them out in short order and taught him some wards.  
The next time it had been a shapeshifter looking to get at the Avengers for whatever reason. Then a kitsune, and another demon, and Bucky'd started getting tired of all the stupid creatures that wanted him dead. Most of them didn't even have a good reason!  
After the last demon, Sam had glanced around the warehouse that he'd decided to crash in. "It's pretty cold today. Only gonna get colder."  
Bucky raised an eyebrow. They were currently in Minnesota, Bucky trying to keep an eye on Steve as he filmed a school special of all things. It was, indeed, cold as fuck despite it supposedly being mid-spring.  
"I grabbed a motel room in town for the night. It's not much but it's better than staying here."  
Bucky's eyebrows had practically hit his hairline.  
"I mean, I got a double by mistake and I understand if you don't trust me or think it's weird, but at least consider it. Room 15 at the Pineview motel."  
He turned to go, hesitated. "At least it has heat, and even if this was a trap you could definitely kill me without too much effort."  
Bucky still sort of disagreed with that one. Even buzzed, Sam seemed to be in a constant state of vigilance, an awareness forged by clear necessity based on the sheer amount of bull that apparently happened to him on a regular basis.  
Their weird-off had started with the metal arm and snowballed from there into some type of drinking game, though neither knew the rules.  
"How did you end up with a knife in the spine? A demon?"  
Sam sighs. "Sort of?" He raises his beer to his lips. "The guy who did it... we were both trapped, kidnapped by demons and forced to kill one another. There were five of us originally and we were the last two left. I refused to kill him-- he was a good guy, just trying to protect his family-- and we were almost out. My brother had found me and I turned my back on a potential threat like an idiot."  
Bucky whistles low, sipping his own drink in contemplation. He couldn't get drunk but there was something he'd missed about sitting and drinking with someone. He associated it with Steve (the lightweight), with laughter and dancing and a good time.  
"I shot president Kennedy."  
Sam's eyebrows shoot up for a change, staring openly. He took a long pull off his drink.  
"I watched my brother die over and over again every day for over a year."  
And so they go on, sharing and laughing and wondering how the fuck their lives got this messy until Sam is smiling more openly and Bucky can't help but smile back.  
"I let the devil possess me and then jumped into Hell, pulling the archangel Michael with us."  
Bucky nearly gets whiplash to stare at Sam. His smile has turned brittle once more, with a tinge of desperation that prompts him not to ask and just go with it.  
"My best friend is Captain America."  
Sam giggles, honest-to-God giggles and then gasps.  
"Oh! James, right? James Barnes. He was my dad's hero, why he enlisted in the first place."  
He turns to Bucky, notes the look on his face and moves on. Bucky grins a little. Sam was a good guy like that.  
They collapse around 5 in the morning, and their hangovers are brutal (evidently Bucky CAN still get drunk, who knew?) but the next time Bucky calls it isn't because something's out to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with this fix! Special thanks to Descott98 for the prompt and be sure to let me know if there's anything you want to see. Until next time!


	4. Sam Finally Meets the Others.... Sorta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: nonspecific talk about various triggers and how to avoid them. Allusions to various canon traumas (and a few widely-accepted headcanon traumas) but nothing specific. Mentions of canon unhealthy coping mechanisms such as alcoholism (Tony) and Sam's grounding-through-pain thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the warning I the description. Anyways! Two chapters in one day, woot! *clears throat* unfortunately don't get used to it. I've got a lot on my plate at the moment and this is definitely an outlier. This one is set a couple months after last chapter. Bucky has rejoined the Avengers (sans Thor, who's in Asgard). Sam occasionally hangs out with them. We're probably going full canon divergence from the MCU at this point unfortunately.

Bucky had gotten used to Sam much faster than he thought he would, The last months have left him with a lot to get used to, actually-- relearning emotions. Rediscovering the joys of pizza and French fries. Remembering just how much trouble Steve gets himself into I mean come on Rogers, it's like you're not even trying!  
Steve welcomed him back with a bright smile and open arms, though Bucky declined a hug in exchange for a strained shoulder pat because touch is one of those things he has to reaclimatize to and Steve understands, they all understand perfectly well and it's just another thing they work around with ease.  
People place things down rather than risking contact by passing it hand to hand (or hand to killer robotic appendage that Tony is obviously chomping at the bit to study and improve on). They NEVER come up behind him, announcing their presence with subtle noises or greetings.  
He learns to work around them, as well. He learns not to mention Howard in front of Tony, not to ask about the glowing circle in his chest. Natasha is easy to work around-- neither of them are okay with being touched, neither of them take being "snuck up on" well, and Clint is much the same. Steve is the easiest. His mind tells him when Steve is bothered, when he is bothered and trying to hide it, and when he is seconds from collapsing from frustration and confusion. They are exploring this new place together, if not hand in hand as they once would've, and he notes that cold water, planes, and historical documentaries are things to avoid at any cost.  
He and Bruce interact rarely, but all the same they learn to coexist with relative ease.  
None of them deal well with loud noises, and though fewer have issues with alcohol or drunk people, it's an unspoken rule that you drink only on your floor and that no one should hear or see you unless they specifically seek you out (This one was mainly because of Tony).  
Sam starts to hang around more often than not. He was in fact the clear winner of their contest (because literally dying multiple times and Hell unfortunately trump aliens and super serum) though the margin was narrower than it should've been. A life like that-- a life like their's-- leaves scars.  
It seems most of them are related to sound. Led Zeppelin and the like leave him melancholy, and no one save Natasha can bear to even look at the sad-puppy-face he pulls in response. She firmly denies that it has any affect whatsoever. "Asia" makes him flinch, looking around him desperately and then melting into the same silent brooding.  
Tony is eager to show Bucky and Steve new bits of media, things he assures them are "must-see's". Sam is passing by when the man screams "GOOD MORNINGGGGGGG VIETNAM!"  
He bolts. They find him in the shower later, fully clothed, warm water drizzling sluggishly from the tap as he shivers. There is a large slice in his palm. The other hand is pressing on it viciously, reopening it over and over.  
Tony throws the movie away that evening.  
Bucky already knows not to bring up family (or friends, but family especially). He passes it along.  
Sam never speaks about it and neither do they, but he seems surprised by their efforts. It's like no one has ever tried to accommodate him this way, and that thought leaves an ache in Bucky's chest that he doesn't quite understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd there we go. Please let me know if you want me to write anything specific, otherwise you'll just be stuck with whatever my muse drums up (and it's a bit of a fickle bitch, to be honest). Thanks for sticking with this story. I have at least two more ideas for this one in particular but they won't be out for a while. Until next time!


	5. Disney and childhoods, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is tired, and Bucky and Steve want to watch all the Disney movies they missed out on. Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is Part one of a chapter that's in the works. Since this has a mini conclusion and I haven't updated since January, I decided to post this now and post the other half when it's done. Enjoy!

The elevator chimes for the second time that morning, and Sam's head hits the counter with a dull "thunk".  
"Tony, I swear to god if that's you--"  
"Relax, Sam. It's just me and Bucky."  
Sam sighs exaggeratedly in relief, leaving his head where it was. The cool marble felt rather nice against his face.  
There's a scraping noise off to his left, then another to his right. He finally peels his forehead off of the counter, resting his chin on his folded arms and sighing at his (probably cold) coffee.  
Part of him, a little voice that sounds a lot like Dean, is screaming at him for his recklessness-- drinking coffee he didn't buy for himself, given to him by a person that he hadn't tested first, and allowing himself to be sandwiched in in an enclosed space with two men who could've easily sent John Winchester running for the hills.  
His frown deepens, and he takes a long sip of his macchiato.   
Because he does feel safe here-- he's grown comfortable with his routine, with these people. He lets them touch him, clap him on the shoulder and slap him on the back and once, very awkwardly hug him. He trains with them, goes on hunts and trusts them to have his back in a way that no one has since... well, since before Dean went to hell.  
It feels almost like blasphemy-- liking them, trusting them, daring to be happy while Dean is--  
His face slides back into hiding in his arms, and he sighs.  
"Yeesh, Stark really did a number on you today, didn't he?"  
Sam groans. "He dragged me out of bed at four and decided we were getting coffee before testing one of his new sensors. Three hours later we're driving down some woodsy highway fuck-knows-where and the stupid thing lights up like a beacon and starts shrieking. Scared us so bad we almost went off the road."  
Sam slumps and sighs again, before forcing himself up. He dumps the cold drink down the drain and sets out to make a new one.  
"Evidently, we accidentally found the deadliest stretch of road per capita in the entire country. Locals call it suicide six."  
He turns to face the super soldiers.  
"Want a coffee?"  
Bucky nods. Steve shrugs, which Sam takes as a yes.  
"Anyway," he sips his glorious, amazing, hot coffee, "What can I do for you?"  
Steve looks up from dumping a metric ton of sugar in his cup with a slightly sheepish expression.  
"Well, it sounds like you had a pretty rough morning, so I understand if you're not up for company just now, and of course you can say no--"  
"Stevie and I just found out that there's, like, a ton of Disney movies now and we want someone to watch them with us. Steve figured you'd be the least likely to laugh at us and/or spoil the endings."  
Steve shot Bucky a look, and Sam chimed in to save them both from a lengthy lecture. "Sounds good. Are we watching them up here or do you have things set up on your floor?"  
He muses, stuck in an elevator with two bickering old men who look his age, that it might not be so bad to be comfortable for a change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The other half should be done this week barring unforeseen circumstances :P by the way, suicide six is a real thing! It's the deadliest stretch of highway per capita in the continental US. My grandma lives down the road and says that in the 70's and 80's, the both sides of the road were peppered with little white crosses where people had died.


	6. Disney and childhoods, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lilo and Stitch is a tough movie to sit through when your brother died, like, six months ago. Sam is a history nerd with angst, Steve and Bucky are lovely people, and I have vague ideas that want to become reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAnd here's part 2! Hope this doesn't disappoint. I've been a writing machine these last few days, and I thank you guys for your patience while my muse figures out how to adult.  
> That being said, I have a bit of a question as to how this will go forward. I'll save it for the end. Enjoy!
> 
> PS: I don't agree with Sam this chapter. Read bottom note for details.

Sam follows the super soldiers off the elevator, coffee mug firmly in hand. The two share a floor, possibly even a room-- not for lack of space, but rather a desire to be close that makes the part of him that remembers when sleeping apart from Dean was nigh unbearable ache.  
The living room area is large enough to seat the entire team at least twice, including the ones he has yet to meet. The couch is long and nearly wide enough for him to lay down comfortably, and its currently piled high with a nest of blankets and pillows. One of the small end tables has been shifted to the middle so as to be easily accessible, and holds the biggest bowl of popcorn he’s ever seen.  
“So, what do you think, should we go in order or just pick the ones that look the most interesting?”  
Steve tilts his head consideringly and shrugs. “In order, I guess. Sam, do you have a favorite you’d like to start with?”  
Sam’s shoulders tense slightly. “I, uh. I’ve never actually seen most of those.”  
He smiles and waves off their awkward apologies. “You didn’t do anything wrong, really. Let’s start with the ones you’ve seen and work from there.”  
They settle in, and Sam has to stop Steve from apologizing three more times before he manages to get properly sucked in to Snow White. Sam finds it kind of dull, but the music is decent, and the other two have clearly been sucked into some kind of memory. They lean on each other, wrapped snugly in blankets with matching far-away grins, and he can’t bring himself to even snicker at the almost literal deus ex machina that kills the evil stepmother.  
The next few films, Pinocchio, Dumbo, and Fantasia, illicit similar reactions, though Sam finds them slightly more enjoyable. Night on Bald Mountain might be his favorite segment of any animated film ever, though he’s only seen maybe five.  
After that, they start picking randomly. Pocahontas has him unable to hold back his history-nerd rage, and the others spend most of the film laughing at him while he practically shouts at the screen. Alice in Wonderland is a delightful trip into madness, despite its digression from the book in several places. The Little Mermaid, the only other animated movie he’d ever seen, was just as he remembered it-- good, goofy, with fantastic music and an awesome finale.  
Then they put on Lilo and Stitch, and Sam slowly started to retreat into himself, posture going from relaxed sprawl to reserved and slightly closed off. Needless to say, the film hit a little close to home.  
He watched Nani fight so hard for a kid who couldn’t seem to understand the gravity of the things going on, searching desperately for a job, battling social services. He watched Lilo hide a picture of a happy family under her pillow and run away.  
The movie came to a close with a happy ending, but the next one didn’t start. He glanced over to see Steve and Bucky looking at him with concern on their faces.  
“So, what do you think? Something more modern? I’ve heard good things about Hunchback of Notre Dam, though I hope they changed that one a bit from the book or it’s gonna be REALLY inappropriate for kids.” He untangles himself from his own blankets and starts towards the TV.  
“Sam?”  
He sighs, turning to face them with a sheepish smile on his face. “That’s not gonna fly, huh?”  
“You don’t have to talk to us if you don’t want to, but we’re ready to listen if you do.” Steve’s smile is awkward but genuine, Bucky’s stern nod a stark contrast to the soft look in his eyes.  
He knows they mean it-- they won’t make him spill his guts, and they won’t judge him or accuse him of not trusting them if he doesn’t want to talk about it. He feels warmth rise in his chest, combatting the cold despair that always settles in when he thinks about Dean.  
Sam slumps back into his spot on the couch with another sigh. “You’ve probably figured out that my childhood was… let’s say less than ideal.”  
They nod, and he feels another rush of warmth. They’re actively listening to him, taking in what he says without judgment or accusation.  
“It’s just-- the movie, seeing an older sibling do so much with so little pay off, and I know there’s a happy ending but it’s not usually like that, and--” he stops, takes a breath, collects his thoughts.  
“When we were kids, I… was kind of like Lilo. I ran away a lot, and I was kind of a brat. Not to mention the sandwich thing…” he chuckled. “I used to do things like… count the cracks in the ceilings to see if Dad would come back when he said he would, if he’d be injured, if he’d et drunk and yell. Stupid, I know. I knew. But I couldn’t stop trying for some magic number, like if I found the right one he’d stop leaving.”  
“And Dean… Dean was there as much as he could be. He raised me, took care of me, and I can’t tell you how often he had to field social services. He was always scrambling to get a job or find a way to make more money for us. I guess…” He sighed, head dropping as he fought back the anguish, “...I guess that the movie just hit a little close to home, is all.”  
Neither of them say a word, but when he gets back from putting in the next movie (Hercules, he decides, is probably the better bet for now), he finds his former space occupied by Bucky, leaving the only open spot between the two. He settles in, and they shift, moving slightly closer to test the waters.  
By the time he’s raving about inaccuracies once again, he’s leaning comfortably against Steve with Bucky’s legs sprawled across his lap, and despite the small pebble of grief that remains lodged in his chest, he feels lighter than he has in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be clear, I do not agree with Sam's romanticization of his brother in this chapter where Dean is a self-sacrificing superman who could Do No Wrong and Sam was a bratty child who had No Right to be "whiny" or "selfish". This viewpoint is directly contradicted in canon, multiple times in fact (for more details ask for meta links and I'll gladly supply them), but it's also undoubtedly how Sam would look back on things, especially since his brother is currently "dead". That being said, my feelings towards Dean range from "I guess he did something okay, if not actually good" to "KILL HIM WITH FIREEEEE" so if you're looking to this story for a neutral, "everyone-has-fucked-up" kind of story, you're in the wrong place (on the Supernatural side of things at least. No Civil Wars will be fucking up my universe, thank you).
> 
> So I found myself in a bit of a dilemma after writing this. I'm a notorious multi-shipper, and while I've kept things gen and can easily keep things that way, I can just as easily add in at least some romantic elements. Is that something you would like to see? Maybe I could put any romantic ficlets into another story/series and keep this one gen? Let me know which you prefer! Whichever side I hear from more will be the one that I go with, so if you have an opinion one way or another, let it be known! :)

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah. Let me know if I should continue this. I have a few ideas and would love to hear any suggestions you have as well.


End file.
